


Red

by orphan_account



Series: Refraction [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Determination, Gen, Sleep Deprivation, contents under pressure, heavy is the head, questionable eating habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>He endures school in the morning so that he can come alive on the court in the afternoon. </p><p>Written for <a href="http://oikawaweek.tumblr.com/prompts">Oikawa Week 2016</a> on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1: July 14  
> Late Nights | Texting | Red (Passion/Determination)

“-awa-kun?” There’s something… tickling his ear. The eraser of someone’s pencil? Tooru shivers and blinks, then immediately has to catch himself on his desk so he doesn’t overbalance in his seat. His ear rings where it's been pressed against his palm for too long. He knows without looking there will be small welts there from the imprint of the athletic tape that lingers on his fingers, forgotten after morning practice ended. How annoying, but it's not a priority at the moment. The entire class is staring at him, so he clears his throat, glances quickly at the board to see what class he’s in-ah, yes-

“Eleven thousand, one hundred and ninety six to the… ah, negative thirty second.” He replies as smoothly as he can, with his voice trying to break in that drowsy way it often does when he wakes. He resists the urge to sigh in relief when no one laughs. The problem up on the board must be the correct question to answer, then. _Hah_.

“That’s correct,” the teacher admits, but she’s frowning a little. The soft buzz of admiration from the rest of the classroom does nothing to dispel her irritation, but she can’t seem to find anything else to call him out on. 

Tooru straightens up in his seat, willing himself to stay awake for the rest of this class, at least. He’s absolutely not willing to risk a detention for something as silly and weak as drifting off in class. How embarrassing that would be. It’s an important week for him, after all!

He does send a quick wink over his shoulder to the girl behind him, who he knows was responsible for that little pencil tickling gesture. She blushes a soft, sweet pink for him and ducks behind her notebook, and he has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning openly. How funny. 

Still, it’s useful to have an ally in attempting to stay conscious. He’s been struggling with it something awful since just after lunch time, and there are still a few hours to go until practice. 

By five minutes into the next class, Tooru's head begins bobbing and he has no choice but to prop his chin on his palm again. He drifts in and out all afternoon, but it hardly matters. He knows the material already, read and studied it ages ago, along with what's ahead for the next three weeks solid. He's not going to be bogged down with any studying efforts during crunch time. It's worth all the sleep he's had to miss to prepare himself for this. 

He endures school in the morning so that he can come alive on the court in the afternoon. The setting sun streams red through the western windows, casting a halo around everyone on that side of the net. It back-lights the eyes of those on the opposite side, giving visibility to the embers that glow within.

Tooru stokes those embers, pressing whatever buttons he has to in order to get the results that he needs. If some would call him possessed it's only because they haven't ever felt the hunger of striving for a goal with every molecule of their beings. Well, too bad for them. Tooru hasn't got the time for people like that. He has things to accomplish, and a lazy team to whip into fighting shape before they next take the ring. They _will_ take it. 

They practice hard and long, getting out long past sunset and stagger home to wolf down cold leftovers, rush through whatever homework absolutely can't wait another night, and collapse into bed for a few scant hours between now and the early morning practice that awaits them the following day. Tooru doesn't need to study, so he ices off his corked fingers -there are six this week- and goes over footage searching for strengths, weaknesses, and inspirations. Iwaizumi sends him increasingly exasperated texts when midnight comes and goes, but there's something that's been bothering him... 

He rewinds, pauses, slows down and speeds up the recordings. His notes are a messy scrawl of times that contain important plays that he needs to...needs to...

At some point he must doze off, because he wakes to find a blanket over his shoulders, his glasses set aside for him, and a cup of lukewarm tea. _Breakfast is downstairs, there's a packed lunch_ , a note from his mother says. _Please remember to eat, darling, you've had such a long night._

Tooru throws his hair gel, toothbrush and cologne in his gym bag. He'll worry about all of that after practice. If he gets there a little early, he can work on that new technique. 

He forgoes the full plate of breakfast waiting for him in favor of a quick slice of toast he can take with him on his way, forgets his lunch and resigns himself to vending machine noodles again for the day. It doesn't matter. His mother will make him a hearty dinner, he can make those lost calories up. Time is far more valuable this morning. He just needs a little more time...


End file.
